


Picking up the Pieces

by happy_valley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Evil Author Day, F/M, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Not Beta Read, will this ever be completed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29472180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happy_valley/pseuds/happy_valley
Summary: Hermione had always had an idea of what her life was meant to look like. But it's been six years since the Battle of Hogwarts and all she is left with are fragments of herself uncertain if putting them together will make her whole.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5
Collections: Evil Author Musings





	Picking up the Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Posted for Evil Author's Day. Updates- unknown..
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Hermione looked around at the empty flat, holding one last box in her hands as she took in the sight before her. The place that she had once called home, where she had once found comfort with her loving boyfriend now only served as a reminder of another failure Hermione Granger had made.

It had been six years since the Battle of Hogwarts and as the years past Hermione tried her best to salvage the life that she had once had. She had gone back to school, dragging Harry and Ron along with her, finishing her N.E.W.Ts with all O’s. Once school had ended Hermione began working in the Ministry along with Harry and Ron but rather than being an Auror, the witch had been given an entry-level position in the department of regulation for magical creatures. She had taken the job without a second thought, thinking back to her days in the fourth year advocating for S.P.E.W. She was not deterred by the fact that the position was not as hands-on as she would have imagined, she reasoned she would need to start somewhere. Things with Ron had begun with a flourish after the war, they had been inseparable at Hogwarts, and when he asked her to find their own flat after graduation she had immediately jumped at the chance. Because these were things that she had dreamed of late at night in her bed as a little girl, she was sure that all of her dreams were coming true. 

She couldn’t have been more wrong. 

It had started at Hogwarts, the disconnect she had felt between what was going on around her. Where she had once strived to be the best student, always being the first one to raise her hand with the answers, always pushing herself to have assignments due weeks in advance. The witch had found herself trying to fade into the background, she would wait to raise her hand regardless of whether or not the answer was ringing loudly in her head. Assignments were completed, but at a rate that would be considered procrastinating for the  _ Brightest Witch of Her Age.  _ The career that she envisioned for herself as a teenager turned out to become nothing more than a mundane job consisting of paper pushing. But she pressed on, coaxing herself into believing that this was what she had wanted and she had to work to get to where she hoped to be. 

And her relationship with Ron, well, that couldn’t be any further than what she had dreamed it would be. Though they had started out well enough, by the time they got to their careers things between them began to slowly fizzle out. Nights filled with passionate love turned into quiet tension. Things that Hermione had once found herself to adore had grown to grate on her nerves in the confined space of their shared flat. Playful insults that would normally cause her to roll her eyes and blush sunk themselves in the deepest crevices of her mind, coming out when she laid in bed whilst her partner snored beside her. Though Hermione tried desperately to make things work with Ron, they simply couldn’t keep the facade of a happy couple. 

With one final sweep of the home, Hermione apparated with an audible  _ pop.  _ The twisting feeling in her navel remained even after she landed at her destination. She took a few steadying breaths before knocking on the door, when it finally swung open she was greeted with the soft brown eyes of her mother. “Oh, Hermione dear, hello.” She opened the door wider allowing Hermione to step through. “How are you?” her mother asked when Hermione was settled. The witch tried to smile at her mother, but it was forced and suddenly a sob left her throat. 

“Ron and I ended things,” her voice came out hoarse. Hermione’s mother sat down next to her, wrapping her arms around her daughter. She allowed Hermione to cry into her arms until her sobs subsided. 

“I’m sorry honey, I rather liked Ron.” Hermione’s throat tightened at the words. Of course, her parents loved Ron, who didn’t? Ron was always making friends, he had a natural charm that Hermione lacked. “Is it something that can be fixed?” Hermione removed herself from her mother’s embrace, wiping her eyes. She thought about how things had ended with Ron, the look on his face when he demanded that she pack her things. Eventually, Hermione shook her head.

Before her mother could respond her father stomped down the stairs, smiling at his daughter who sat on their sofa. “Hermione honey, what brings you here so late?”

“Hermione and Ron broke up, Richard.” She watched her father frowned. He came to stand beside her, ruffling her hair in an attempt of comfort. 

“Can I stay here for a few days?” Hermione asked softly, looking up at her father. She watched his gaze flick to her mother who wore a matching frown. 

“Honey,” Her mother took a hand into both of hers, “You know that you are always welcome to stay here.” She began with a soft smile, but Hermione didn’t miss the way that her mother’s gaze went back to her father. “But if we had known you’d be coming over we would have stopped the renovation.” 

“Renovation?” 

“Well, we began renovating your old bedroom into an art studio for your mother.” Her father chimed. Hermione knitted her eyebrows in confusion. In all of the years that Hermione had known her mother, she had never known the woman to be artistic in the slightest. She recalled a homemade birthday card she received from her mother in the second year, it was horrendous. 

“I picked it up when we were in Australia.” Her mother supplied a way of explanation. Hermione smiled wanly at her mother. In the time that it had taken to track down her parents following the end of the war, her parents had grown rather fond of the country. When she had been able to reverse the memory charm placed on them, they had been appalled at their daughter for her desperate actions. It had taken months of tense interactions and frequent sobbed apologies before they had finally decided to move back to England. Though they seemed to remind the curly-haired witch how much they enjoyed their lives in Australia as much as they could. 

“It’s getting late honey and we have an early start tomorrow.” Her father spoke, looking at his wife who still had her arms around their daughter. “Hermione do you need us to get you some linens from the closet?” Hermione shook her head, standing to her feet to give her father a hug. He kissed the top of her head and pulled away to look down at her. “I hope things with you and Ronald sort themselves out, that boy was good for you.” Disappointment flashed in his eyes and Hermione felt ill.

With that her parents made their way to the bedroom, leaving Hermione to attempt sleep on the sofa. As she brought the throw blanket to her chin she let out a sigh. She was not sure what to expect when coming to her parents’ home tonight. It had only been due to the fact that Hermione had nowhere else to go, the burrow was simply out of the question as Molly only seemed to hold the young witch in high regard when her son did the same, Grimmauld Place was also left off of her list simply because Harry did not like being put in the middle and it was even worse now that he and Ginny were a couple- it did not help that Ginny was not Hermione’s biggest fan after learning that she and Harry had spent an extended amount of time together alone when Ron left them on the run. What was she to do, leave Harry all alone? She knew that she had a rather tumultuous relationship with her parents since reuniting with them in Australia, but she did not think that coming to them with her problems would meet her with disappointment. Weren’t her parents supposed to support  _ her? _

She tried to shake the thoughts of self-loathing away, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.

*

Hermione found herself in desperate need of a pain relief potion and a large cup of coffee. It had been four days since she asked to stay with her parents and she despised every moment of it. Mornings were met with heavy footsteps and loud voices, though she worked in the ministry and did not often have the luxury of sleeping in, her parents were up and moving before five in the morning each day which was three hours earlier than Hermione would need to wake to be ready to apparate to the ministry. Though Hermione had tried to gently chide her parents for their noisy morning routine it did not seem to phase them. Nights with her parents were filled with not so subtle remarks about their adoration for Ron and the disappointment that came with the demise of their relationship. This left the witch without an appetite, opting to settle into the lumpy couch in hopes of full night rest. 

The curly-haired witch stepped into the muggle coffee shop closest to the Ministry, desperate for a caffeine fix but unable to stomach the sludge that came from the Ministry coffee rooms. When she reached the counter she quickly told the barista her order and waited for it to be fulfilled. Once given her coffee, Hermione turned on her heel ready to hurry towards the Ministry when her body collided with another patron. Scalding coffee covered the front of Hermione’s shirt causing the material to cling to her torso. She looked up at the person she had collided with ready to apologize when her eyes landed on a shockingly familiar face. “Pansy?” 

The dark-haired witch attempted to clean herself with the napkin that was clutched in her manicured hand. Upon hearing her name she looked up her hazel eyes meeting the brown ones of Hermione’s. Pansy raised a thin eyebrow as she appraised the witch before her. “Watch where you’re going, would you Granger?” The witch sneered over at Hermione, who only rolled her eyes in return. 

“Might I remind you that  _ you  _ were in my way,” Hermione let out a huff, brushing an errant curl from her face. She didn’t wait for the other witch to reply before she made her departure, coffee is damned. She made it to the end of the block before the sound of Pansy’s voice called out to her. She turned back to see the Slytherin witch stalking over to her, heels clicking with each step, with a frown. 

“Salazar you’re fast Granger.” She let out a huff and reached into her bag, when she pulled her manicured hand out, she held a small container out towards Hermione. “You took the brunt of the coffee and I’m sure your chest is irritated. This will help.” Hermione eyed the container warily causing Pansy to scoff. She twisted the jar open and took a hearty scoop onto her fingers and promptly rubbed it into her arm. Hermione watched as the red irritated skin that had been victim to the scalding coffee began to reduce in color. “I own an apothecary two blocks down the way, I sell this product. Wouldn’t be too smart to try and maim customers with my products would it now?”

“That’s muggle London?” Hermione stated questioningly, this only caused Pansy to snort.

“They don’t call you the brightest witch of our age for nothing, do they?” The catchphrase caused Hermione to cringe. She was smart and that had its merits. But the phrase left her feeling so… inadequate. Surely the brightest witch of the age would do much more than she. Hermione frowned as she took the jar still in Pansy’s proffered hand. “The war’s over Granger, believe it or not, people change.” With that Pansy turned on her heel and headed into the direction of her apothecary. 

Hermione watched the Slytherin’s departure, letting her words wash over her. The war certainly was over, that much Hermione knew. As she stared at the jar with the label reading  _ Pansy’s Potions  _ she couldn’t help but wonder if the second part of her statement was true. Could people really change that much? Hermione didn’t know. 

What she did know was that she was not the same person she was when she was eleven years old. Judging by the jar still grasped in her hands, perhaps neither was Pansy. 


End file.
